Here I am, trying my hand at something darker and more abstract again... So here you are. The plot bunny that I didn't want to part with. I'm not sure it turned out how I wanted it to, but it's midnight, and I'm more easily satisfied when tired.
Kill Arthur
He had never really thought about what it meant to think. The power of the mind was something he took for granted. It was just there, it just existed.
He thought about now.
Do it, Emrys.
It buzzed in his head. It. The voice. The all-consuming voice that whispered things, that compelled him to obey the whispers. Do it, Emrys.
No.
Every fiber of his being screamed not to give in. He fought to feel, to see, to think for himself. His eyes, squeezed shut so tight, cracked open.
Arthur, on his knees, on the cold stone floor. At least, he imagined it had to be cold. It was the dead of winter. But he fought so hard to think that feeling things like cold took a very low priority.
He cracked them open a little further. Arthur, on his knees, held there by magic. Magic that was his, belonged to him, and yet wasn't his idea to use. Magic that, as far as Arthur was concerned, belonged only to the voice in his head.
Do it now.
He struggled. He tried to send a message back, but the ability to think was too far from his grasp. He couldn't think to himself; of course he couldn't think to someone else.
His eyes, as their lids parted so terribly slowly, glowed fierce gold without his permission.
Don't try to fight.
And the longer he tried, the less he wanted to. Why fight? He couldn't win. Possession was total unless the sorcerer let their prisoner go. He knew that. The tiny part of his mind that still functioned under his control knew that.
Slowly, he let himself succumb.
Another voice joined the first, a familiar voice, one that had infiltrated his head before.
You must fight it, young warlock. You must fight for your destiny.
The dragon. Close by, no doubt. He remembered calling it, but only as one might remember a dream. Fleeting ghosts of the words danced on his tongue, words that were useless to him now.
The dragon was too late. It was over.
Do it, Emrys.
The mantra continued.
Emrys.
Emrys. From somewhere, probably due to the dragon, the name erupted a series of disconnected, painful-to-think thoughts. Merlin. Arthur. Two sides of the same coin. Destiny...
Do as I say, Emrys.
Whatever you say, he thought, because that thought was allowed and certainly not his own. His own thoughts threatened to make themselves heard in his head. Can't. Mustn't. Must... protect...
Kill Arthur.
And he had to obey.
He didn't need to do anything; it was all in place. His golden eyes. The magic, his and not his, flooding his veins, his mind, his soul. He just needed one word.
Kill Arthur.
And he did.
"Ácwele," he hissed, and jolted back to his own awareness as the world crumbled around him. Or maybe he was doing the crumbling.
Because he killed Arthur - the only way allowed, the only way destiny knew how.
Two sides of the same coin.
He let himself fall into darkness.